


Office Party

by etal



Series: Office AU [1]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Hand Jobs, M/M, Office Party, Office Supplies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 16:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17227160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etal/pseuds/etal
Summary: Secret Santa, office party, photocopier





	Office Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RubyIntyale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyIntyale/gifts).



> Rubyintyale wrote me a fantastically hot Office Secret Santa fic and I'm reusing the wrapping to return the favour :)

“It’s not a trick, honey. Put your hand in the bag and pull out a name.” Dina perches on Armie’s desk and much as he wants to point out that ‘honey’ is an inappropriate form of address in the workplace and that she’s sitting on the Fisher report, he really needs her to _go_ so he can get back to Legal before EOD. He grits his teeth and sticks his hand in the ‘bag’ which is actually a company waste paper bin (approx. $2.42).

He pulls out a slip of paper and unfolds it. He’s about to read out the name when Dina shrieks “Don’t tell me! Don’t tell me! Secret Santa recipients stay SECRET okay? No telling.”

She bustles out and Armie stares at the name on the paper: Timmy C. He has no idea who that is. How is he supposed to buy a Secret Santa present for someone he’s never met? He finds it painful enough buying gifts for people he knows.

Against his better judgment, given the time, he turns to his screen and searches the staff email listings. Armie knows there’s no ‘Timmy’ in his own department, Accounts, but there’s a Tim Drew in Customer Services and a Timothy Greenberg in Personnel, so it could be that Greenberg just isn’t able to write his name properly. Armie can’t be sure so he puts the paper aside and turns back to his report.

When Lisa comes through to collect it, he clears his throat and says, “Take a look at this for me.”

When she sees the paper she squeaks and puts her hand over her eyes, “Mr Hammer! Nobody’s supposed to know who you get!”

“Yes but… Lisa, I have no idea who this is and I can’t find him in the staff listings.”

Armie has only been in his job since September. His last place of work was a large accounting firm where Holiday celebrations were limited to sherry for senior staff 5-5.30pm on the last day of business. The staff of Guadagnino Inc started getting excited about the office party in October and Armie is keeping his own private calculation of many work hours and resources are being spent on it.

Lisa takes pity on him and looks at the name. “Oh! Timmy C, that’ll be Timmy Chalamet. He’s lovely. He’s in Packing – that’s why you couldn’t find him. Those guys don’t have individual email accounts.” Lisa is usually pretty reserved, which Armie likes, but she’s wearing a dimply smile now. “He’s _lovely_ ,” she says again.

“Thank you,” Armie says.

Lisa’s still standing there, hugging the report, smiling.

“Thank you,” he repeats.

“We could swap,” she says. “I got Derek in Marketing. He would be easy to buy for.”

“I think we should probably stay with our allocated names,” Armie says. He dislikes Derek.

He looks at the slip in his hand again. It annoys him that ‘Timmy C’ would presume that everyone would know who he was, even without his full name. It’s written carelessly, with the T big and bold and then the rest of the letters scrawling out across the paper like they’re lazy and want to lie down. The C is curled into the corner and its tail ends in a smiley face with crossed-out eyes. It’s irritating.

*

The first week of December is hectic beyond belief so he forgets all about the Secret Santa problem. Things ease off around the 12th and he turns his mind back to working out how to buy a present for a person he doesn’t know who works in Packing.

His noon meeting cancels so he decides to take an early lunch and goes to the canteen for once. He usually eats at his desk so he hasn’t been down often. He sits with his tray at a corner table and is making his way through an indifferent Caesar salad when he hears someone call out “Yo Timmy!” He whips his head round and sees a big guy wearing a yellow uniform shirt with the Guadagnino Inc logo stitched across it. He’s waving at another yellow-shirt wearer, only this guy has one shirt sleeve rolled up showing a wristful of bracelets made of, variously, silver, leather and - _string_? His pants, which are inexplicably simultaneously baggy _and_ tight, are tucked into his socks and he’s wearing a baseball cap. He’s a walking violation of mandated work-attire. And he’s gorgeous. Armie tracks his graceful lope towards his friend, how he swings round to sit down, stuffing French fries into his mouth, showing him something on his phone, laughing, one foot up on the seat. Over the noise of the canteen, he hears him say “I mean who the fuck would wear _that_?”

So this is him. Armie has to buy something, within a $20 limit, for this boy. This _cool_ boy. His mind flashes forward to a chillingly plausible scenario, where Timmy C opens Armie’s present and says, “I mean who the fuck would choose _this_?” 

He nearly chokes on a cherry tomato and gives up on the salad. He buses his tray to the corner and when he turns to leave he runs straight into someone heading to the condiments (supplied free, Armie has noted disapprovingly, must add up to about $4000 pa) - Timmy C himself. Timmy C, who has green eyes and a laughing, pink mouth and dark smudges under his eyes that suggest he stays up too late; Timmy C, who puts his hands on Armie to steady himself and says, “Whoa there. Wow, you’re tall.” And when Armie gets a strangled “Sorry” up out of his throat and past his lips, Timmy slaps him lightly on the chest and says, “no problem big man, have a good day” and slides away.

*

He goes to the canteen again a few days later. Timmy C and the Packing crew are there. Armie tries to ration his glances across the tables but eventually when he lets his eyes drift over, Timmy is looking right at him and Timmy ducks his head and says something to the blonde girl sitting next to him and she looks across at Armie and they giggle.  
He orders sandwiches at his desk for the rest of the week.

*

He’s in a meeting about profit projections into 2020 but his mind keeps drifting to the Secret Santa problem. He makes a pathetic list of possible gifts he’s come up with based on his observations in the canteen. A hat. A bracelet made of string? Where do you buy bracelets made of string? What the kid needs is a belt to keep his ridiculous pants up but when he thinks about Timmy tearing the wrap off a belt in front of the whole office, his pen skids across the pad and he blushes all over.

Back in his office, he googles “cool baseball hats $20” and thinks about jumping out of the window.

*  
Lisa usually does a tour of all the departments on the 16th of every month to collect up the expenses forms. They tried an online system but nobody could work the electronic signatures so they went back to the old procedure.

Armie stops her on her way out and offers to do it, claiming that it’s a good opportunity for him to get to know the office better. She gives him a doubtful look but hands the folder over and he sets off. He works his way down the floors, leaving Packing to last. When he pushes open the basement door he nearly falls backwards at the onslaught of incredibly loud rap thundering through the room. He puts his hands over his ears and ventures in: Timmy has a scanner in his hand and he’s jumping round the room, scaling piles of boxes like he’s in an adventure playground.

“Hey,“ Armie says. Then shouts: ”Hey.” 

The music dies and he looks up to see one of the other Packing guys in the corner, hand guiltily on a speaker.

Timmy jumps down, shoving his hair out his eyes.

“I’ve come for your expenses sheets. If you have them. Do you have expenses. I don’t know. The signed sheets.” Oh, but this is _terrible_.

“Uh… we don’t usually… I mean there’s not a lot to expend on down here,” Timmy says with a shrug.

“Right. Of course.”

Armie looks at his folder as if he’s checking some important information. Timmy spins his scanner in his hand like he’s a cowboy. 

“What is the music.” Armie hears himself say this, hears himself speaking like a fact-finding robot.

“What is…? Oh – right, what we had on just now? Sorry if it was loud, it kind of keeps us going fast when it’s busy. That’s Kid Cudi man. The best.” He does something complicated with his fingers.

“Kid Cudi,” Armie says.

“Right.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Armie looks at his folder again. It’s hard to look at Timmy’s face.

He turns to go but Timmy says, “Hey man, you got 20 minutes?”

He doesn’t but he says yes anyway and ends up standing outside on the street, freezing his ass off and shaking a charity bucket while Timmy bounds around him, accosting members of the public and making them give him their money. It’s the annual firm charity collection and it’s for sick kids and that’s all fine but Armie cannot deal with public displays of anything and he stands there stiffly with his bucket, like a shop mannequin in a weird businessman/farmer tableau. Timmy has no such problem, he’s wearing a reindeer hat with bells on it (“No,” Armie said when he was offered one), and he’s down on his knees to give a kid a sticker and ask them what they want for Christmas at one moment, hugging girls for selfies the next, thanking nice ladies with his hand on his heart, singing and dancing and _bringing in the cash_.

Armie’s bucket is pretty empty until Timmy tugs him out of the corner and puts him next to the Christmas tree at the entrance to the building. “Here Armie,” he says, taking off his own soft blue scarf and wrapping it round Armie’s neck. “Smile?”

Armie can’t help it, he wants to smile when Timmy does, moreso when he reviews this conversation and realises Timmy knows his name. He smiles. He shakes his bucket a bit. The money starts to come in, women mostly, slipping twenties and fifties out of their purses and looking at him under their eyelashes.

Timmy notices, winks at him.

*

Gradually thawing out back in his office, Armie starts to search for Kid Cudi stuff. There’s no point in buying a _CD_ is there? Tickets are too expensive for the $20 limit. So is most of the merch. ‘Moon Man’ air fresheners are $6 each so he could get three of those but he doesn’t want to suggest that Timmy needs air fresheners. He smells really good as far as Armie has been able to tell. And three would be a bit _Se7en_.

By late afternoon of the 20th he’s in despair. Because he did all that googling he keeps getting adverts for all sorts of Cudi-related material and he must’ve neglected to untick for push notifications for one of the sites he was foraging in because a message flashes up on his screen: Cudi is playing a 'pop-up gig' that very evening, downtown. Not far from the office. Before he can think too hard about it, Armie notes the address.

He has no intention of going to the concert. That 30 seconds in the basement had been enough for a lifetime. He eats dinner in a tolerable restaurant over the way and waits until he sees the crowd spilling out, pays up and heads over. He joins the crowd outside the side door, all clutching pens and posters. When Kid Cudi emerges, the crowd surges forward and Armie realises that he hasn’t got anything to have signed. In a panic he opens his wallet and pulls out a twenty; he takes advantage of his height and leans over the kids in front of him to stick it in front of his nose. Mr Cudi pauses with his sharpie over the bill and gives Armie a funny look. He guesses he must look at little incongruous in his suit and tie.

“Could you make it out to Timmy C please?” he asks politely.

*

Of course they can’t all just unwrap the Secret Santa gifts in private, it has to be done in front of the whole office and then there’s guessing about who was the Santa. It’s so awful.

After the third or fourth present has been unwrapped, Armie gets a terrible feeling that he’s done this all wrong. Martin in IT was the first to open his present and he got a mug with dicks on it that said ‘Drink Up its Christmas’ [‘it’s’ thought Armie, not ‘its’]; Chris, also in IT, got two bath bombs called ‘Liquid Orgasm’ and some chocolate dicks. The CEO’s PA was next and she got lavender bags and a kitten calendar. As more presents get unwrapped, it becomes horribly clear: the presents are all either dick-related or anonymous and innocuous. He starts to sweat. His turn comes first: his present is in a plastic bag and it’s a bath bomb in the shape of a dick. Derek from Marketing raises his glass at him from across the room.

Armie prays for a fire alarm, an earthquake. It’s Timmy’s turn. People whoop and he does the finger thing. Armie had put the signed bill in a box and wrapped it in some nice midnight-blue paper. Timmy does a joke rattle of the present by his ear and tears into the wrapping. When he pulls it out, he frowns, then does a kind of double-take and says ‘What th….Oh my GOD.” He presses the bill to his heart and while everybody else complains that you can’t just give money for Secret Santa and attention moves on to the next person, Timmy finds Armie’s eyes across the room, and smiles.

*

“No no, we’ll crack the feeder tray…”

“OK.. just lemme…”

Timmy hoiks the lid of the photocopier up and jumps up on it, spreading his legs and pulling Armie in towards him. Armie sinks into him, hands wanting to be everywhere and not knowing where to start.

Luckily, Timmy knows exactly where he’s going and he pulls Armie’s shirt hem out of his pants and strokes long stripes down Armie’s back, making him shiver, down his front, making him sweat. Armie’s suit jacket is long gone – when they were dancing maybe, after the eggnog? Timmy is already pantless and he unzips Amie so he can get at his cock; spits into his hand and rolls them together, saying, “oh wow I knew you’d have a beautiful dick.”

He just … says these things.

There’d been no denying that he was Timmy’s Secret Santa and Timmy had hugged him to say thank you, and then stuck by his side through the carols and the game of drink-twister. Then the total of the charity collection had been announced and it turned out they were the champion collectors and they got sashes and crowns. By the time they were swaying along to Fairytale of New York and Timmy had tucked his head under Armie’s chin and said, “So traditionally, this is when we kiss,” Armie had been feeling so happy that he almost didn’t mind seeing Derek vomiting into a plotted plant ($95, plus pot). 

Armie starts to thrust helplessly into Timmy’s fist, slick by now and just the right amount of tight, and his knee knocks the A3 drawer, which springs open. He fumbles to close it and instead hits the power button and the photocopier springs to life. He tries to find the switch again but Timmy says, “Leave it, leave it, god I’m so close..” so Armie presses forward, lips searching for Timmy’s hot mouth again and gripping his hips and inadvertently leans on the touch screen and the thing starts to _copy_ , spitting out paper in bursts of bright light that illuminate Timmy’s ass. 

The door to the printing room opens behind them and someone says, “Oh shit sorry guys…” and as the door shuts he hears them add, “was that Mr _Hammer_?”

Timmy’s mouth is by his ear and he’s muttering in this endless stream, “oh man I can’t believe this, you’re so hot and huge, man you’re huge, I was like, he can’t be into me, like I’m just in Packing and he’s top floor but Imma gonna do you so good I promise, like I wanna do everything when I’ve got your clothes off, I wanna have you lie right over me and just like _squash_ me…”

Armie gasps and shifts and hits something else on the machine and it speeds up and starts to jolt every few seconds, which makes Timmy groan-

“Oh fuck it’s … _stapling_ … ”

Armie thinks that if this is what it feels like just to be up against Timmy, tongue in his mouth, his hot, firm grip around both their dicks, god knows what it would be like to be inside him, to feel him all around... He’s losing his mind and the floor is covered with pictures of Timmy’s ass and when Timmy wraps both legs round him, leans back, thrusts up at just the right angle, and says, “After this.. oh shit that’s .. after this.. let’s have a drink and then go fuck on your desk,” Armie comes so hard he sees the profit projections for 2025.

 **Guadagnino Inc. Monthly in-house expenses summary: December 2018**  
Staff Christmas Party (refreshments): $2845  
Decorations and sundries: $1575  
Deep clean (plus heavy soiling penalty): $4322  
Replacement Xerox Atalink B800 Multifunction Copier/Printer: $22278.00


End file.
